


Beyond the Frame

by drfitzmonster



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Art Gallery AU, Eventual Smut, F/F, Gallery Owner Cat, Photographer Kara, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drfitzmonster/pseuds/drfitzmonster
Summary: Cat Grant, owner of the famous Grant Gallery, is approached by artists Kara, James, and Winn, who beg her to allow them to stage a group show in her gallery. Cat is intrigued by Kara's work, but she can't tell if she's more drawn to the photographs or the girl herself. Against her better judgment, she decides to find out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is just a first chapter. My wife and I just bought a house and we're moving and my life has been a real clusterjam lately. I'll be able to dedicate more time to this when everything settles down.

When they came to her to beg her to host their group show, Cat was skeptical. Very. They were not the typical artists she booked in her gallery— in fact, she wasn’t quite sure why her assistant set up the appointment at all, instead of shooing them away immediately.

Cat Grant represented well-known, established artists or rising stars, and she had artists scrambling to show in her gallery because they knew how influential she was and how many critics and National City elites with money burning holes in their pockets came to her openings.

She dropped the folder containing their portfolio, proposal and (very short) CVs, and looked across her desk at their smiling, guileless faces, wondering which one had spurred the others on to make this appointment. They had to know it was a shot in the dark, that Grant Gallery did not represent children right out of art school, no matter how fresh-faced and unnervingly attractive they were.

“Look,” she said flatly, “Your proposal isn’t bad…” She watched as a glimmer of hope sparkled on the boys’ faces— what were their names? Will and John?— but the girl, the smart one, knew what was coming. “But it’s not good _enough_. I run a business, not a charity for struggling artists, and I just don’t think your work will sell here.”

“Ms. Grant, please, if you just—” the little nerdy one started.

“Have you even sold any work yet?” She held her finger up as he opened his mouth to speak. “Student shows don’t count.”

He deflated.

Just as she’d suspected: they were so new they’d had no exposure at all. They’d likely never even shown in a gallery off campus. She felt for them, she really did, and there was definitely something captivating about the girl’s work. It had a certain pull to it, a magnetism, one that she refused to admit may have had more to do with the girl herself than her photographs.

Still, there was something to her work, something real that while raw and untamed now, could be honed and perfected by the right person.  Had she come alone… Well, she hadn’t, had she? She was part of a package deal, one that was not worth the risk.

It’s not that the other two were bad, just out of place. The squirrely one’s complicated lightboxes with moving parts were… novel…  but they just wouldn’t sell here. They’d do better at a science fiction convention or a maker faire. And the tall handsome one— assuming he didn’t make a change and go into modeling— could easily have a successful career as a photojournalist.

“Well, I have another meeting to get to…” Cat stood, holding the portfolio out across her desk, waiting for one of them to get the hint and take it. When they all just looked at her, crestfallen, she let out a heavy sigh. “Look. It’s not that I don’t think you have talent. You’re just too green. Come back in a couple of years when you’ve had some exposure, and we’ll talk.”

The three of them stood, but none made a move either to leave or take back the portfolio in her hand.

Cat jotted a number on a sticky note and affixed it to the portfolio.

“If you’re hard up for money, the catering company that works for me always needs servers. It’s the best I can do.”

Mercifully, the girl took the folder and ushered the others out of her office.

Cat turned to collect her coat, and when she turned back the girl had reappeared in the doorway. Although she’d never show it, it gave her a thrill to see her standing there, wild-eyed and determined, but obviously terrified.

“Kiera... I thought I was perfectly clear...”

“Ms. Grant, please.” She took two quick steps forward, closing the distance between them. She held out a business card.

Without even thinking, Cat reached for it, and the girl pressed it into her palm, hand closing lightly around her wrist, the contact sending a shiver down her spine.

She caught Cat’s gaze, still gripping her wrist gently. “Think about it?”

And then she was gone, leaving Cat wondering what the hell just happened.

 

* * *

 

“I knew she was icy.” Winn set three bottles of beer on the table with a thud and sliding into the booth next to James. “But I didn’t know she was a stone cold bitch,” he said, slurring just slightly as he spoke.

“Winn!” Kara looked stricken. “That is disrespectful!” She took a thoughtful swig of her beer. “And she’s not… that…”

“She gave us the number of a fucking catering company,” he spat out.

“She was trying to be helpful.”

James scoffed. “Really? You think she was trying to help us, and not just put us in our place?”

“Cat’s not like that, you guys.”

“‘Cat?’ You on a first-name basis with her now?” James downed the rest of his beer.

“No, of course not… I just think you’re judging her unfairly, that’s all,” she said primly, lifting her chin.

“Why are you defending her?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh my god,” Winn blurted out.

“What?”

“You’ve got the hots for her.” Winn laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, we all know you’ve had a crush on her since we got to tour her gallery freshman year, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad.”

“What?” Kara looked away, trying to hide the tinge of red creeping into her face “I did NOT! I _do_ not have a crush on her.”

“Kara, come on,” James said gently. “You’re blushing redder than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Okay, okay… I _might_ have a bit of a crush on Ca— Ms. Grant.”

“Right… a bit…” Winn smirked at her over his beer.

“It’s not like it even matters,” Kara muttered, picking at the label on her bottle. “She turned us down.”

 

* * *

 

Cat Grant sat in a leather armchair in her study, facing a floor to ceiling window overlooking the lights of downtown National City. She held a tumbler of scotch firmly in her hand. This was not her normal everyday after work scotch, either, this was the 30-year single malt she only brought out when she was feeling particularly pensive.

Like now. She set her glass down, abandoning it for the business card the girl had given her earlier that day. _Kara Danvers. Photography._ And then it listed an email address and phone number. The text was white against a striking background, swirling bands of color, cobalt and dark blues swirled with reds and yellows. It was clearly a detail from one of her photographs, although to be honest it looked more like a painting than a photograph to her.

It was… intriguing. The girl was intriguing. Kara. Cat thought back to earlier that day, her skin tingling where she’d touched her, recalling her steely gaze as she stood in the doorway to her office. Cat shuddered, turning the card on its edge and tapping it lightly against the arm of her chair. She suddenly felt overheated, and she stood, quickly shrugging out of her jacket.

She abandoned the card with a disgusted sigh, taking her scotch to her balcony, where the night air might cool her down. She leaned against the railing, letting her arms hang over, cradling her glass in her hands. The breeze blowing over her skin raised gooseflesh and she shivered against the chill, and against her own alcohol-addled thoughts, which were starting to get away with her.

The girl had talent. Cat would be foolish not to snatch her up now, before someone else did. It wouldn’t take long for someone to notice her, even hiding, as she was, among the ordinary.

It wasn’t that simple though, was it? The girl wasn’t just an undiscovered star, she was young, and hot, and there was a darkness behind her eyes that made Cat’s stomach flutter, and that made her _dangerous_. Cat had felt a spark of something pass between them when she’d barged back into her office, and that was precisely why she absolutely should not call her.

She downed the rest of her scotch and took her phone out of her pocket. She was dialing the number before she even realized she’d been staring at that damned card for so long she’d memorized it.

 

* * *

 

Kara looked up from her computer, where she was making some last minute edits on photos from a wedding she’d worked with James a couple of weeks ago. Her phone was vibrating. It was awfully late for someone to be calling, especially a number she didn’t recognize. She picked it up, on a whim, instead of just ignoring it like she normally would.

“Hello?” she asked cautiously.

“Kiera. I’ve thought about it and—”

“Ms. Grant? It’s almost midnight.” Kara felt her body flush and her stomach drop. She couldn’t believe she was actually on the phone with Cat Grant.

“I’m aware of the time,” she said brusquely. “I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have the luxury of making all of my business calls during work hours.”

Was she slurring her words just a bit? Was Cat _drunk_?

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry.” She tried to keep her breathing steady.

“Yes, well…” she cleared her throat. “I’ve decided I’d like to represent you. If you come to the gallery tomorrow I have some paperwork you can fill out, and we can talk about putting together a show.”

“Oh, thank you! I can’t wait to tell Winn and James!”

“Who? Oh, them... yes.” She paused. “I am only interested in you. The others are not a good fit for my gallery. But you? You I can make something of.”

“Make something of me?” Kara swallowed thickly, the implications of those words pooling like heat low in her belly.

“Yes, Kiera. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t think I could. Now are you in or not?”

“Ms. Grant… They’re my friends, I can’t just abandon them.”

“Sure you can. People do it every day.”

Wow. Maybe Winn was right about her...

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I won’t do it without them.” Had she really just said no to Cat Grant? She shook her head, exhaling slowly, trying to keep herself from crying.

There was a long silence, then some rustling, and a heavy sigh.

“I thought you might say something like that… I _might_ consider allowing them to have one of the auxiliary galleries for a couple of weeks, but I want to see more of your work before I make a decision.”

“Oh!” Kara exclaimed, surprised. “Of course. I can email you—”

“No. I want to _see_ your work. Up close and personal. Do you have a studio I could stop by?”

“Oh, um, well… I can’t really afford a studio, so everything is just, um, at my apartment.” Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest.

“Great! Call my secretary tomorrow and she’ll arrange a time for me to come over.”

“Ok!” she managed to squeak out before Cat hung up.

Kara stared at her phone in disbelief. She pulled up her call log, and there it was: an incoming call that lasted exactly two minutes, from what had to be Cat’s personal cell phone. Where else would she be calling from this late?

She added the number as a contact to her phone, giddily typing in Cat’s name. She still couldn’t believe it. Cat Grant called _her_ , and she wanted to represent her, and she wanted to see her work. Oh, god. Cat wanted to see her work. In her apartment. _Cat Grant was coming to her apartment_.

She was so fucked.

 

* * *

 

Cat woke the next morning just before sunrise, in a chair on her balcony, clutching her phone in one hand and scotch tumbler in the other. She was wretchedly hungover, which seemed impossible until she saw the remnants of the bottle on the table in front of her. Did she really drink _half_ a bottle of thousand-dollar scotch?

Her head was pounding. What else happened last night? She retreated inside to escape the first blinding rays of the sun just starting to peek over the horizon, entering her study to retrieve her laptop. And then she saw the business card, and everything came flooding back.

The girl. She’d called the girl, drunk, at— she checked her phone— 11:53 last night. _Jesus Christ_. If her “friends” (because let’s be honest, she had connections, colleagues, and competitors, but she hadn’t had actual friends in years) could see her now, Queen of the National City Art Scene, flustered like a teenager, drunk-dialing a girl half her age.

It was pathetic. Not pathetic enough, however, to keep her from emailing her assistant to tell her to expect a call from Kara Danvers, and to set up an evening viewing. She made a half-hearted attempt to justify to herself why it was imperative that she see Kara’s work in person. But who was she kidding, really? She knew she just wanted to get closer to the girl, feel that flutter in her stomach again, see that _something_ in her photographs reflected in her eyes, maybe even feel the warmth of her skin again…

Shit. She was in way over her head.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I will update as soon as I can.


End file.
